


five

by dumbasshoe



Series: KiteGon collection [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Curiosity, M/M, Puberty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbasshoe/pseuds/dumbasshoe
Summary: This odd, intimate game of chase, along with their meetings in the attic fell under a grey, venn-diagram category of ‘Don't bring it up’ and ‘Don't let Mito know’, yet was still graphically relived every time the two of them made eye-contact.Something Kite might say was okay when it was just them but not okay enough to talk about, to let loose, because of some adult reason.And as Kite would also say; it’s merely another event to pretend didn't happen. But Gon will take what he can get, especially if it means Kite is reciprocating.





	1. inkblot, alone in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> so funny story i wrote this like 5 months ago and stopped completely midway thru to write vacancy. Idk, i lost insp for this fic i guess, but the idea is still dear to me.   
> Please enjoy♡

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kite's always had a way of holding someone's hand that emphasizes he’ll have to be the first to let go.

This idle observation leaves Gon jittery and sort of glum, this odd Kite Fact all he can think about as he tears away wrapping paper. But it's his birthday, and Kite came over, so he'll be happy!

He gets good presents. His mom made him clothes, his dad bought him cool stuff. On the floor surrounded by shredded, multi-colored paper, he smiles for the pictures Ging takes on his mom's behalf, since she's not here to take them living a city away now.

But Gon smiles for real, rosy and childish when Kite gives him one last present, eyes blowing wide with glee.

“Ah!! Another one! Thank you, Kite!!”

His reaction has Kite smiling big and rare and charming, eyes glued to the birthday boy as he reverently accepts the little cactus. Happy, strange Gon, so grateful for the modest gift of another plant on his 12th. He holds it like he'd hold a diamond or some other precious symbol, though honestly (and a little shamefully, his pernicious humility,) Kite had merely seen the lovely budding, hazardous thing and thought, _‘For Gon.’_

“A cactus? You couldn't get him something else?”

“Don't say that, dad. I love it!” Gon remarks, examining the plant. Kite chuckles at that.

After a greeting, names and all, Gon sets it down and lunges up. Tackle-hugs the breath out of his father's closest friend---his ‘uncle’ as Ging refers to him, even though he doesn't adopt the term. In his excitement he shoves Kite back into the couch cushions, soft laughter and warmth emanating.

Kite’s big hand tugs around his back to pull Gon onto the couch beside him, pulls his Chimera Ant monster t-shirt up a little in the process, exposing his tummy, but between the two of them they don't motion to right it. He's in a tight half-hug.

Ging says something about heading to the kitchen. Gon presses his cheek against Kite’s chest to immerse himself in the seashell echoes, sweet heartbeats. The boy breathes steady, absolutely swayed by the sound of Kite's low voice,

“I'm happy you like my gift. Happy birthday, Gon.”

"Don't tell mom or dad,” Gon starts to whisper, “but you give the best gifts!”

Kite’s eyes crease in a nerved smile, the same one he gave when Gon sprinted out the door to greet him and demanded they hold hands up the driveway. “Then, it's our secret,” he replies.

Gon smiles back.

His heart is up in his head, numb. Or, maybe it's down, heavy in his feet. Either way there’s a new fullness in him, he pictures the legs of an inky octopus reaching out to all corners and borders of his insides. Happiness. That's what it is. Shakiness in his hands and hot ears. Happiness. His ribs kind of hurt from the strength of Kite's yank, but he presumes to call that ache happiness too.

Their chatter, brief as it is, is excited and enthused, Gon leading and Kite following, prodding, questioning with interest. _‘Did you see what mom made me?’ ‘No, show me!’_

Kite’s so fun. He always humors Gon, even when his dad thinks he’s annoying or his mom offers that he’s overwhelming. Kite always has time for him. Gon likes answering the ‘catch up’ line of routine questioning when it comes from him, and not an aunt he barely knows, or any other adults that know his parents but not Gon's name. Because Kite cares! Kite is his best friend.

His father returns from the kitchen then, mumbling “Need to hit the store later,” and sits in his own recliner across the living room. He's got a new beer in hand. Scruffy from days without shaving and red-rimmed eyes from overtime at his overnight job. 10am is late for him. Despite how tired he is, he picks up conversation and laughs and talks on about work and other adult stuff with Kite, sipping his beer and spewing raucous laughter occasionally.

Gon would, at any other time, attempt to get Kite’s attention back, but Gon is _older_ now. He doesn't want to seem immature or annoying. He's very conscious of it.

And besides, he's content for the moment to only be close to him. Kite's small gestures in socializing---a twitch of his fingers, nod of his head, exhales of laughter---they jolt Gon, every move is a little earthquake. He enjoys it. Stares up at Kite's sharp jaw as he speaks.

 _Kite’s got… such a tall neck…_ Gon thinks, blinks, dazedly.

His hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail today, so Gon can't play with it. Maybe he's too old to play with it now though.

Kite's Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. His lips press, his nose flares, his lashes blink and flutter. The quiet of the moment is made intense by these fractal images, puzzle pieces, the surreal, simple mannerisms playing out before Gon’s eyes.

And Gon falls further into Kite's lap, the opposite of aerial view. Lets his mind wander.

He thinks this sort of feels like when he was little, and his mother would rock him in her arms during conversations with other adults; where he'd lose track of his senses and time, and he’d lull into her rhythm, completely in sync with her breathing, talking, gentle rocking… He feels the same in Kite's arms. But for the slight fear his weight is burdening Kite's skinny frame, he’s content against his vibrations, completely secure.

There’s no gravity, Gon realizes! no passing of time. Everything in the room is spinning, slothful, glowing with the amber of morning.

From his cozy spot on Kite, he turns to eye the cactus on the coffee table, affectionately. It’s in the same unique pot as the other plants Kite's given him every year. Glows with life, just like the other ones. As his dad speaks and gestures in his blurry periphery, he thinks about where he'll place it in his room among the flourishing others, and how he can't wait to take such good care of it.

“...Gon does too, don't you?” Comes a loud quip from his father, and Kite laughs silently, rubbing his arms.

But Gon keeps missing the joke, perking when Kite laughs but he still doesn't get it, he keeps blocking out the boring words. He doesn't get what's so funny but maybe it's not funny at all.

“No, he's a good kid.”

Or maybe it's because he's too enraptured with Kite’s fingers that have begun combing through his hair, his eyes keep closing and he's here, but he's not really here at all because he's being held by Kite. _Kite_. And when his casual eyes flit down to Gon's staring ones, Gon feels _warm_ yet still shivers, holding eye-contact, holding his breath, _curling closer-_ \--

“Hey-- Gon, pal, leave the poor guy alone, huh?”

Gon flinches at his father's voice. He looks at him, then up at Kite, questioningly, “Do you want me to move?”

Who looks up, and back down in surprise; “Ah--no, you're fine---"

“Kite's not gonna _tell_ you to get out of his lap, he's too nice. Just…” Ging takes a swig of beer, “stop clinging to him so much,” he says thickly, gesturing vaguely at their entanglement.

“I don't mind it, Ging, really,” Kite replies. It takes the heat off of Gon, who hasn't moved yet. Should he? Kite’s hands leave Gon's hair to slide down to his shoulder.

The adults look at each other in silence--- years of friendship, skipping the back and forth of etiquette. Kite's pushing Ging to speak his mind, because he's really quite terrible at it. Ging shrugs.

“Fine. Alright,” he says quietly. Sputters and smiles, “I just think it's odd.”

“It's really not,” Kite counters. Means it.

“You're not a kid anymore,” Ging bites at his son. His eyes suddenly wide like they get when he's serious. “Can't keep acting like one.” When he's mean.

Kite licks his lips. It's a nervous habit, he strokes Gon's back when the boy corrects his posture.

Sighing loud, Ging swirls his beer to peel at the label. “This weird ass behavior is probably why your mom left,” he mutters poisonously.

Gon goes limp.

And Kite's hands--- why do they choose now to leave him? When he wants it most? The air never rang so loud as now.

Kite’s stiff, almost shocked--- but it's only a beat before he lowers his head to catch Gon's downturned gaze and speaks soft.

“Gon, why don't you go upstairs and set up that game you wanted us to play?”

He brightens just a little, nodding excited, “Okay!” and leaves the couch to bound up the carpeted staircase.

But he slows at the top stair. Goes to his door, opens it, then returns to the staircase. With a tinge of guilt, he wants to hear.

It’s biting, and shocking and muffled: “ _Asshole_.”

Gon blinks wide. He's never heard Kite curse.

His father starts chuckling. “Hey now,”

“That was awful!” Kite's voice is low, but hissing. “He's _twelve_ , nowhere near ‘not a child’, and he's taking this harder than he lets on. You cannot say things like that, Ging. My God…”

Gon sneaks just a little further down. Just enough to see.

Ging looks a little guilty at being scolded, eyes on the beer bottle cradled in his grip. “Mito’s been gone for months,” he sighs, “He acts like nothing happened.”

Kite exhales his anger. “You're being selfish.”

“Damn it Kite, he doesn't talk about shit to me.”

“It would help if you cared.”

He glares. “How am I to know what he's feeling?” Ging continues like he hadn’t heard that.

Kite glares too, picks up the cactus to twirl in his hands as he sits forward, elbows on his knees. “Ask him. He’s your son---"

“No--- no no that--that's no good, because he doesn't like me, he likes his mother, he always liked her better and now he feels like he's _trapped here with daddy!”_ His hands throw up into the air as he vents, tipping the bottle over. Some of the dark beer spills out onto his work shirt, and he seethes.

“Ah _fuck_ \--- goddamn it…”

Ging groans, sullen. He props the half-empty bottle onto the old coffee table, runs his hands over tired face. Sits forward, the same as Kite.

He’s so tired. Alone. Eyebags, weight loss, 5 o'clock shadow.

“It's just. He's my son, ya know? But I can't get anywhere near him.”

“Probably, just how he's dealing with it,” Kite offers. “I'm sure he loves you just the same as his mother.”

Their following silence lets Kite stand, stretching after having had Gon's weight on him so long that his legs had fallen asleep. Wiping his pants free of wrinkles, he eyes his friend.

“I'm gonna go check on him.” There's muffled footsteps then, and Kite glances to the staircase.

“Do whatever,” Ging sighs, facing up at last. His eyes stay low, he bites the inside of his cheek.

Kite looks him over. “Did you still need me to stay?"

“Yeah, please.” Ging stands up, letting loose a heavy sigh as he begins unbuttoning his shirt and heading to his own bedroom in the hallway. Before closing the door, “I'm gonna sleep. But go whenever you need to. “

“It's alright, I'll stay for Gon. You're up at 9? I'll just pass the time.”

He nods. “I appreciate it.” And makes to close his door.

“Ging.”

It halts. “What?”

Kite hesitates. He looks around the house, at all the half-empty cups and random laundry and dirty plates and beer bottles. There are new holes in the drywall near the stairway. A smell of neglect and stagnant air and Gon's toys and games strewn about half-complete, half-finished attempts at everything he sees.

“What bothered you?” Kite asks, because he really doesn't know.

“Which answer do you want,” Ging replies with mirth. A bit of a waver in his voice from drinking all morning, though Kite can see the face he’s probably making and knows it's grim.

He sighs. Looks over to the window; closed curtains, they've been that way since Mito left. He looks at the spot where Gon had been sitting so happily.

“I'm sorry, if I made things---”

“No. It's not…” He opens the door enough to lean on, and looks at Kite. “That's not how I meant it. I wasn't even--I’m not even angry, I don't, fuckin’--” His face scrunches, shuts his eyes with his own exhausted frustration. “Look, Kite, you're good for him. You are.” He tells him quietly, “Thanks for being here.”

“Of course.” His question wasn't answered, but Ging is nodding like this is the end of their talk. “Rest well.”

“...Yeah.”

Kite turns to walk away and head upstairs. Gon is waiting. He has his gift, and a blank mind after that conversation. He’s about to start up the stairs, but he hears the wood of Ging’s door creak back open.

Kite thinks he hears it wrong. Or revised it somehow, maybe Ging's self-deprecation has reached an all-time low, or perhaps what he heard was true and that's worst-case, but he definitely heard it--- quiet, like he’d held it in for long and didn't intend to share it ever;

“It’s scary how much he loves you---doesn't pretend, not like he does with me.”

He pauses on the stair, and the door closes again. “Depressed bastard.

“Get ahold of yourself,” he mutters. Kite slugs up the stairs with that running in his head.

 

  
When he faces Gon's door, he peeks through the cracked opening. It's almost completely dark with the curtains closed. Gon’s silhouette is sat on his bed, head resting on a fist. He can't make out anything else.

A quiet sigh blows through Kite’s lips.

He knocks for the ceremony of it, because Gon has already known of his presence since he'd reached the top stair. Pushing the door open, Gon is instantly different, sitting up and cross-legged on his bed.

He bounces in place, grabbing his bare feet in excitement. “I have the game all set up,” he exclaims, scooching back and patting a spot for Kite to sit. “Ah--" Gon reaches across the bed to open his curtains some---it’s a board game. “There.”

Kite smiles, fond, reserved. Too many words on the tip of his tongue.

“It looks fun.”

It’s there now, that nerve, twitching in his fingers to speak to the boy. Tell him he's not alone, that his father didn't mean it, he's not weird… not weird for being different, anyhow, and

“Hey do you want some of this candy my friend gave me?”

Kite blinks. “Huh?”

Gon shakes the little robotic container into his palm, and out come malt balls. “It's chocolate! Here!”

“No thanks, kiddo. I'm not big on candy.”

Gon shrugs, taking back the hand with chocolates in it. “Oh, okay.” He tosses back the malts and chews happy.

Kite sits beside him on the bed, cactus cradled in his bowled hands. The mattress gives and dips where his much bigger figure is perched, Gon’s feet and the board sliding into it slightly. Goosebumps birth beneath his sleeves. Gon's arms are covered in them too; somehow, it's so much colder in here than the rest of the house.

“Gon, um,”

“Are you ready to start?” Wiping his hands off on his clothes, a smudge of chocolate lingers at his mouth. He sits to face Kite. “I wanna be this one,” he mutters, showing off the little game piece he'd chosen: a fish.

Kite wets his lips again.

“Uh. Then, I'll be…” he sifts through the various tiny nickel figures, “this one.”

“No, not the skateboard, that one’s Killua’s.”

“Whose?”

“What if you be the bear?”

Kite half-frowns. “Let me choose, Gon.”

His brows pop and his expression changes from childish oblivion to shame. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” he assures. He grabs another one from the pile, “This one.”

"Hah.”

“What?”

“A plant, huh?”

Kite frowns again, but his eyes are humorous. “It's neat, I like how it feels in my hand,” he defends, and Gon giggles. It's a figure of a large carnivorous plant coming out of a box, toothy and creepy, a good rip-off of an iconic series featuring a similar creature.

“You're funny, Kite.”

Kite scoffs affectionately at that. “Have I told you about this one before?” He asks, holding out the cactus gift. He gives it into Gon's welcoming hands.

Gon shakes his head ‘no’ in reply, looks at Kite with big eyes.

“It's called---it's a hard one--- mammillaria compressa.”

“Mammal---mamillmarya--”

“Don't hurt yourself,” Kite smirks. “It's a ‘mother’. Very reproductive species, and it blooms often.” He does his best to simplify, and look earnest Gon in the eye. “You'll want to take care it doesn't overgrow. Do some research.”

“Okay,” Gon nods with enthusiasm. “Heh, I've never seen a cactus with flowers in real life.”

Kite pulls a leg up onto Gon's bed, rests his head on a fist as he converses. “The flowers are pink. You'll like them.”

Not that he didn't before, but Gon’s eyes gleam and shower the humble plant with renewed affection. He's turned to stare off through bright orange slits in his closed curtains, when he says, softly, “You always know what I like, Kite.”

Kite opens his mouth, closes it.

“Oh, the game!” Gon sets the pot down on his windowsill and gets comfy in front of the board. “The rules are right here,” he says, pulling out a mess of unfolded papers from the open box and they explode, some flying off the bed and others into Kite's lap. “Oops,” he mumbles, reaching around to gather them.

Kite exhales, part anxiety, part impatience; he interrupts Gon's collecting to ask:

“How have you been, Gon?”

“Good,” he answers instantly, childish, still grabbing pages.

“No," Kite takes gentle hold of his forearm. Knuckles wrap to meet thumb. Gon looks at him.

“You know what I mean.”

He shrugs. “I've been okay.”

“You miss your mother?”

He nods.

“There's nothing wrong with that. You're not in trouble for missing her.”

Fidgeting, he's idling with the game pieces.

“And your father shouldn't have said what he said. It’s not true.”

Gon nods, but it's small, and shallow.

It's difficult to keep looking at him so, Kite can't stand that dull look in the youthful boy’s eyes. It eats at him.

“It's pathetic of him, to have said that. I’m sure he's aware of this.”

Another dead nod.

Kite rubs at his arm. “Gon, it's…”

Silence. “You--”

He doesn’t know what to say!

So he pulls the boy into a sudden embrace. The game board is jostled. Pieces clack to the floor and Gon is brought forward awkwardly, his back arched in and his face in Kite's armpit, Kite’s breathing in his ear. And Kite’s feeling odd, as though he were fanning blue flames. Gon has a way about him that makes him impulsive.

Kite tells him, “We love you, Gon.”

He tenses up in his arms.

Kite clears his throat, “Your father, mother, we all care about you very much. Don't believe otherwise.”

Gon’s little back starts shaking, there's wet warmth where his face is stuffed into Kite's shirt. And then he's hugging back, full strength.

“You're not alone,” Kite continues, softer, rubbing motions into Gon's small back. His fingers bump over Gon's spine, whose green t-shirt gathered and bunched at the collar, his lower back left exposed. Kite eyes his skin mindlessly.

Peachfuzz, dimples. “And you're not ‘weird’,” he asserts. Peachfuzz. Soft. _Gon._

If it were any other situation maybe he wouldn’t have worded it so; Gon is the most unique person he's ever known. Weird simply falls short. So does special.

Gon untucks himself from Kite, wet face in a youthful pout when he parts with the damp cotton. “You--?”

“What?”

Gon sniffles and smears his nose off on his hand, clarifying thickly, “You love me?”

“Of course,” Kite replies. Combing fingers through Gon’s hair, “What's not to love?”

More than he estimated. He's never seen a mind so inkblot, so inviting. Lonely, even. And perhaps that's what pushes him to take Gon's side; in arguments, on the battlefield, in a divorce.

Gon breaks into a smile then, toothy. “I love you too, Kite!”

Kite’s lips upturn, honestly. Gon starts wiping his eyes, and Kite helps, thumbing away tear streaks, continuing with the comforting motion of fixing back his black hair. Gon leans into it. Puppy.

“I'm really happy,” he tells Kite, voice raspy from emotion. His lashes are wet, eyes puffy and glossy. Hair still amess. Happy.

Kite, touched, brings him a bit further forward to meet foreheads, close his eyes in a contented smile.

This tender moment, it is what it is and it doesn't really fix anything, they're both aware. But Kite hopes assuring Gon of his support will help him through this. He's a lonely kid, but he doesn't know it. Inkblots always have twins.

And Gon doesn’t know this either; that he’s cherished. He's the plants Kite gives him, the dirt beneath his own nails, amber sunlight, the vitality in his own impartial smile.

Kite might sometimes conclude it's remorse in the pit of his stomach when he farewells this family. Or maybe, oppositely, it's guilt at the motivations Gon's nature inspires in Kite, that only ever fail to take flight once he leaves the room he's in. An indirect of self-reproach.

But it's terribly uncomplicated to be carefree, with him. Like a kid, when Kite was one, but Gon has a way of assimilating and assuming and consuming the minds, the barriers of every adult that dares to be scrutinized by him and his big eyes. After the intensity that is being Gon's friend, it's easy to be. Hasty, naïve thing; he would invite a murderer to be his friend if they so much as wore the same color. Kite has yet to decide whether this is something he should interfere with; his blind sweetness.

Kite feels a little gust of air at his face then and it shatters his rapid thoughts. When he opens his eyes, Gon is staring.

Staring.

His eyes have gone from emotional to heavy lidded. _Dark_ , glazed, he's so close to Kite's own face, close enough that his edges are out of sight. Gon's young hand presses against Kite's enormous one on his cheek. He’s sprawled forward, he's stretching closer, lips parted. Almost straddling Kite’s lap, on his bed, alone in the dark----

Kite’s guts pulse. Eyes go wide.

For the first time since he's known Gon, from the baby shower and through every birthday, he's never seen him like this. He leans back.

“Hey,” Kite clears his throat, offers, “how about we play that game now?”

Gon jumps back at that, back into his normal self. “Oh yeah!” Eyes regain hazel, “Sorry!” He returns to grabbing all the fallen pieces and cards, scooches back to set right the board.

And all the while Gon is moving around, Kite intently watches his eyes. His small fingers as they assemble the game.

Nothing. They tell nothing.

In an abrupt surge of hypersensitivity, Kite is _here_ , shivering at the temperature, the greenhouse smell of Gon’s room. He registers the boy's quiet breathing and eager features, the hairs falling into Gon's face when he looks down, his youthful mannerisms---a scratch at his head or leftover sniffles ---the rose in his cheeks, red heat at his ears, the chapped lines in his lips.

“Dad got it for me. It's called Greed Island!”

An overload of sensory details; Gon, all _Gon_. Where did it go? Was that real?

“Let's play now!”

Kite blinks.

Blank face, tight-lipped. Stares hard at Gon.

“Yeah.”

Unmistakably. Gon had been about to kiss him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. tooth fairies become moths when no one sleeps

 

 

 

 

 

  
Gon contemplates the word 'virgin' a lot lately. 

Hearing it or any other intercourse-related term, either on tv or the car radio, or in his mother's conversations on the phone---it stops him short, steals his attention. Has him thinking for the rest of the day, sneaking peeks into his mom's dictionary to reread the same ingrained definitions his curious mind seeks. He doesn't know why, but he hides his sexual curiosity from his mom.

They’re only words, blurry concepts, but they make him  _ feel _ things. It's all a general bubble of confusion, what he sees and what he reads, because he feels like there's pages missing, even though there aren't. Not like he could be sure, either, because his mom’s always done her best to avoid the topic--- even educationally. But he still chases this secret.

He'll be in his room doing homework at his desk, or on the living room couch, or sitting on the branch of a tree to escape the house when he feels a pulse, pressure in his groin. And curiously, he'll rock against the immalleable branch, (or a pillow, or rub his legs together) and  _ seethe  _ in shock and pleasure so good that he might pee. But he never does. And he keeps going. 

The anatomy pages from his  _ Youth’s Encyclopedia! _ , he'd memorized them! and they never mentioned this part. He knows what an erection is. He knows what sex is, it's the act of reproduction between a man and a woman. It also gives pleasure.

But again, he feels like something's  _ missing _ , because that doesn’t sound right. It sounds weird. And he especially thinks so when nothing more happens; he’ll rut and rub until he’s panting and hot, and there's a wetness in his underwear, but---he's stopped short every time. Maybe because he's not doing it right, or he's by himself. But it's more painful than pleasurable to climb down a tree with an erection in his shorts. 

He's in his room one morning, doing his homework but actually just rubbing his thighs in search of friction, as it's become a recent addictive habit of his. He reads the 17th math question in his textbook over and over, not ever understanding what it's asking him but he needs somewhere to look. And that alone takes too much focus. His toes curl where they’re hooked around the legs of his chair, his palms are flat on his desk, a poor wooden pencil caught beneath his right hand, cracking where Gon strains it.

It feels  _ good _ .

His breath stills suddenly and his eyes pop--- he’s got an idea.

All at once Gon is afraid, and ashamed and absolutely excited out of his mind to try it. Should he? He will anyway. 

His thighs un-tense and part. His brows crease at the sensation left when the air touches the dampened skin at his inner thighs, in house shorts and nothing else, it's a raw sensation. Cold, hot.

With a long, cautious glance over his shoulder to his closed bedroom door, he looks down at his tented crotch. He holds out his finger--like poking a foreign object with a stick, Gon prods his own hard-on, and is still a little surprised at how violently he shivers. He's resolved.

Quiet.

Calm. 

His thumbs go to hook beneath the waistband of his shorts---

“ _ GON!! _ ”

Gon jumps back with a gasp, tipping his chair on its back, and in his desperate clawing for the desk he takes his textbook and every other thing on his desk down with him. 

He hits the ground with a solid  _ smack _ !

Gon groans, “ _ Ow _ \---What mom!!” rolling to stand up quickly and right his things, lest his mother see and guess what he'd been up to! He doesn't even know what he’s doing, but his mom will. She’s smart.

“Come help me fold laundry!”   
  
He seethes and rubs the achy spot on the back of his swimming head, and rushes to put on a shirt, a  _ long _ shirt; “Coming!”

“Now Gon!”

Throwing one on, he double-checks the state of his room before swinging the door open, and walking into the living room with as much artificial nonchalance his marathoning heart can manage. 

“Yea--" he clears his throat when his voice sounds too raspy, “Yeah mom?”

She’s on the couch, wearing her chore pajamas and layers and messy hair, running about in tasks and hurries since dawn. More than usual, Gon realizes. She stands up to approach Gon;

“Here, these,” Mito tells him as she sticks a laundry clip between her teeth, pointing to the newest dry clothes pile on the futon, specific even with two other full baskets in her arms. “I’m gonna hangh theshe out to dry,” she tells him as she heads for the back door.

“Okay.”  He runs ahead to open it for his stubborn mother, who mutters a ‘Thanksh’. Then he rolls up his enormous shirt sleeves to his elbows, (one of his father’s shirts, though it would have been large on him too, Gon thinks.) 

With a soft sigh, Gon falls into the couch and starts folding. Starts hoping it doesn't rain again before that batch of clothes dries, or else his mom might go into rage mode and redo  _ all _ the laundry in a rebellious fit, cursing the indecisive weather. He's tired of her yelling. Only a little less than a year he’s lived with her alone, but the yelling got old quick.

Dad never yelled. And it’s weird, how much things change; she never yelled before either, about anything or in any mood she might be in. But hearing her common, neutral shrills now has become part of life.

A few minutes later, his mom pops back in. A gust of cold air blows in and Gon's skin prickles in response. The wind is picking up, whistling like it does when there’s rain coming. Mito shuts the door quick and sighs at indoor’s warmth, loose hair from her ponytail is blown wild.

“Whoo! Alright,” she chuckles, “now just keep an eye out the window for me. If you see any sprinkles,” she squints at Gon, “you tell me.”

He raises a brow. “How come we didn't just do laundry tomorrow?”

“Well, tomorrow is your birthday!” 

“Or another day?”

“The house isn't clean,” Mito shrugs.

Gon's face doesn't change. “That's no big deal? Usually.”

“Well… Also…” she bites her lip. “Ah, no, I can't say. Sorry!”

“Say what?”

“Nothin,” she lies. Sitting down, she looks Gon's shirt over. “That's an ugly clown. Where'd you get that huge shirt?”

“ _ Mom _ , tell me!”

“Ohh fine, I was gonna wait to tell you, but I just can't---” She exhales, face bright, “It was gonna be a surprise!” She holds her breath;

“Kite is flying out to visit us!”

Gon stops folding the laundry. Bored confusion turns to childish excitement in an instant. “Really??” Face lit up like it hasn't been in months.

“Yeah!” Mito says, staring. Rare sight. She grins, rolls up her own sleeves to help with the pile of clothes. “He said he'd be here until next Sunday, gives us like ten days. I’m so glad he was able to take off work and come up! We haven't seen him in months.” Her eyes are in her lap and her voice is calm as she tells Gon the happiest news he’s heard in months.

“Since my birthday,” Gon adds, sort of sad.

“N--No. No way, it's been that long?” Gon nods ‘yes’. Mito scoffs, “I'm scolding him for that, how dare he!” There's a smile on her face, but Gon believes her statement. Thinks maybe that'd have a better long-term in Kite's dedicated avoidance of this household.

“Did he say anything?”

“About what,” Mito asks, pulling some wild auburn hairs from their snag on the corner of her mouth. “Was he supposed to say something…?”

Gon shakes his head. “Oh, no. Just wondering how he's doing.” His feet swing, seated on the couch they fail to reach the ground. “I miss him.”

“Yeah. I miss him too.” She looks fondly at a long-sleeve of Gon's she's been folding and unfolding since Kite came up.

Gon is excited. More excited and elated and eager and more  _ excited _ than ever. He has a million questions, but he decides on a whim to ask a certain question; take advantage of Mito’s good mood. He's been meaning to do it. It's a good moment. Mito won't snap.

He clears his throat. “Is dad coming?”

It's hardly noticeable; Mito doesn't stop folding, but Gon spots the instantaneous blip of a pause that takes her, causes her brows to crease. “I don't know,” she replies coldly.

“Can I call him?” Gon asks quietly. 

It takes her a second, but she nods. “Yeah,” she gestures him to the wall landline. “I hope he answers.”

“Me too.”

He stands, goes to makes the call. Tip-toes, curly phone wire. He has the number memorized. 

There’s only eight or so rings before it usually ends; Gon counts them off, holds out hope ‘til the sixth, seventh, eighth ring that his dad will answer. Gon knows he's off work. Maybe he's already asleep.

From the couch, Mito sighs harshly and gets up, heads away, to glare at the floor from the doorway, away from the sound of Ging’s voicemail;  _ ‘It's Ging, I'll get back to you. Unless I don't’.’ _

A cold ‘beep’. It used to make Gon sort of smile, silly dad! but now it's more haunting than endearing. Ten words of apathy. Ten words that say, like always,  _ ‘Not now, Gon.’ _

“Hi dad!! It's me again. I wanted to see if you were gonna come home tomorrow for my birthday?” He winces at the realization that he said ‘home.’ He's bad at voicemails. “Sorry. Um… so yeah… Oh! And Kite will be here too!” 

Mito shoots a glance at him, and he can tell she didn't like that he said that. “I miss you, please call!” and with that, he hangs up.

He'll try calling again later, he decides, slumping. Hopefully mom will be okay with it then too.

He sits back on the couch. After a moment alone, Mito joins him, and they resume putting away laundry.

“Did you finish your homework?” She asks conversationally.

“Uh…” He’s blank. He has to think hard to even remember what she just asked him; “...yeah.”

Mito eyes him. “He'll call.”

Gon nods. Keeps folding clothes. She's still watching him, a bit sad---and then Gon perks, like he's forgotten something incredibly important:

“When does Kite get here??”

“Uh, tonight,” Mito answers, trying to keep up with his enthusiasm. “His plane lands at 11. He probably won't get here until later though, the stupid storm has been delaying all day.” 

Gon stares at her. Stares at her  _ hard _ . She turns to him--- “Nope. You still gotta go to bed at ten.”

“ _ Please? _ ”

“Nope!” She smiles smug. “Anyway, it was supposed to be a surprise!” Gon frowns, she laughs. “Try and still act like it's a surprise when he gets here,” she attempts to say through laughter. Gon’s pout breaks into a little giggle too, even though he's disappointed.

He pets his side of the pile, now folded, and stares at his hands on his knees. Legs swinging and eyes far away. “I can't wait to see him.”

His mom says something like, ‘Me neither,’ but Gon is already thinking of Kite's voice. His teeth when he speaks, the hood of his eyes. 

The rest of the day passes with Gon in a walking coma. He doesn't talk much, not even excited chatter with his eager mother about presents or the fact that he'll be  **_13_ ** _ , _ how exciting~! doesn't laugh when she asks if he feels old yet. But when Kite’s name comes up, he opens his mouth.

  
  
  
  


It's eight at night now. The storm’s gentle prelude comes as mild rain pattering at all the windows. 

Washing dishes, Gon stares out the kitchen window, at black night, dancing rain streaks. His mind is a thicker cloud than the grey ones outside.

He’s thinking of whether Kite packed an umbrella. What he'll look like when he comes through their front door, because he always looks different when it's been a long time. Maybe he'll have a years’ worth of new scars, or even longer hair, or he'll look older.

Gon ponders what Kite will say; if he'll tell him how big he’s getting and how mature he is and how handsome he looks. It would be much better somehow to hear now, instead of when he'd be hearing it at ages five, six, seven… 

He wonders then--- eyes focusing somewhere into the dark distance--- if Kite thinks he's nice looking.

Gon shuts the faucet off.

He flaps his hands of water, steps off the stool he uses and rushes straight to the bathroom. This is an old house, and he's short, a gift from both his parents, so he still has to stand on his tiptoes to see below his neck in the high mirror.

He looks… young.

He smacks his face! Stretches his cheeks and puffs them up with air! Frowns, makes a series of funky faces until his eyes are  _ open _ , and his face is splotchy red. He splashes it with water, gnaws at his lips until they're filled with blood and throbbing, and borrows his mom’s chapstick from the mirror’s cabinet. Scruffs his hair until its spikes are in all the right places, a few strands falling into his face,  _ pretty, _ like he sees in media. And he looks at his reflection again.

_ Young. _

He lowers back to his feet, stares blank into the mirror. 

Gon wonders if Kite likes  _ young _ . 

He wipes his face dry, and returns to the kitchen.

  
  
  
  
  


At 11:42, Gon is wide awake in bed. He can't sleep! He couldn't even if he didn't refuse to. Staring at the clock makes it all feel so much longer, too. He wants to be out there. He wants to see Kite! 

Rolling restlessly to lay on his back, he stares at the spackled ceiling, and wonders what Kite wore on his flight. What he packed, if he brought his own toothbrush and hairbrush or if he'll have to buy ones while he's here, in their small coastal city.

The phone rings in the living room then. He listens intently for his mother's hurried footsteps; the click of the phone’s pickup. 

See, Gon has great hearing. He's always liked the family-assigned comparison of Gon to a canine, gives him some odd sense of pride. His mother's muffled, low ‘Hello?’ is perfectly audible, even over the static rain outside.

"Hey! I'm glad you landed easy!” Her voice comes alive with hushed excitement. And Gon sits up in bed, leaning far forward, like the few inches will grant him audible access to Kite's side of the conversation. 

“No, no, I didn't. He's asleep.”

Toes wiggle beneath the blanket. His breathing feels loud.

“You sure you don't want me to pick you up?

“...Okay… Okay, yep. See you soon,” Mito says. Eager, muted.

Gon wiggles full-body, rolling around in his bed so that his blankets are tangled. Some excitement has too eep out of him, just a little or he'll burst!

Wide-eyed but seeing only black, he wonders excitedly, what does Kite look like tonight? Is his hair up? If he's caught in the storm will he come in with rain dripping down his face like teardrops? Did he wear good shoes? Probably. He's always been really good at being prepared.

Mito pops into his room suddenly. 

A pindrop reaction---he drops his head and assumes any sleeping position! 

“Gon, are you asleep?” She whispers. He doesn't want to be scolded again… 

He only breathes, just heavy and slowly enough, eyes closed, until his mother is convinced and leaves. Then he sighs out the big breaths that accumulated from his excitement. 

A thought comes to him.

Where will Kite sleep? The couch? No, mom wouldn’t make him do that. Her room? Gon kind of hopes not. He's not sure why but it makes his stomach hurt. He thinks.

His room?

Probably not, it's too small. They don’t even have an extra bed for him. He wonders what more plans and details have been kept from him since this secrecy began. A mean thought materializes:

Maybe Kite doesn't want to see him all that badly.

It's mean but it makes sense. He didn't call for Gon, and he didn't visit for a year… Maybe he's just coming because he feels like he has to. Or because mom invited him. 

This little revelation turns Gon's entire cheery disposition on its head.

He feels very guilty. Selfish for wanting to see Kite just as badly even after realizing this. As though, maybe he can make him change his mind. Make Kite wanna visit more. What can he do? What can he do to fix it?

He thinks himself in circles, fails to fall asleep.

  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  


It's thundering harsh and booming, the rain pours down something dramatic. 

The hour, setting, its lack of saturation in the dark makes him feel like a villainous intruder in a black and white film as he approaches the house he's seen in his dreams.

Kite can't even really see the rain, only when it catches through the sparse moonlight, or in front, in the headlights of the taxi as they drive up the lonesome hill.

When they pull to a stop at the edge of the driveway he takes a breath and steps out of the car, shielding himself with his coat overhead. Kite thanks the driver as he pulls out his bag, and heads up the hill, swirly, muddy driveway giving way to his big bootprints. Follow the light from the porch. Moth, beacon.

He's only seen this house years ago, in pictures, Mito’s childhood albums; with her mother and grandmother doing laundry on lines in the backgrounds, or sitting on the porch steps braiding Mito’s hair. It's not as cheerful or charming as it was in the pictures. Not with the paint peeling and the roof falling apart. Certainly not in the pitch dark of night during a thunderstorm. It leaves a rather haunting feeling in the air, this dark, wistful house.

When Kite reaches the porch, he’s able to see his breaths, visible puffs of warmth tinted by yellow doorlight. He sniffles and wipes his boots best he can before knocking, and looks at his watch: 12:50am.

Blowing warmth at his numb fingers, Kite rubs his hands together and waits. Seethes from chill, and waits. And knocks again. So cold it hurts to knock. Heart beating. Nervous? Excited.  _ Both _ .

Then he hears the latch coming undone and locks turning and the door opens, warmth seeps out and he sighs. Finally.

“You're here!” Mito pulls him past the threshold into a tight hug, squealing joy.

“I'm here!” Kite chuckles, matching her high, whispering tone, it sounds silly in his voice. He sighs again, the indoor temperature is such a contrast that he shivers. Hugs her back. “How are you?” 

“I'm so great. I’m glad you came,” she replies quietly, grinning. Her eyes are tired, but her joy makes her younger than her laugh lines. 

Kite’s forgotten her face a little bit in the last year. Seeing her at this hour, in this dark lighting sends him reeling through memories. Her smile reminds him of Gon. They look so alike.

“Uh-oh, you’re really wet.” She backs out of the hug and takes his bag from him, sinking at the weight of it. “Oof-- Get in here you tree!” She's speaking low again. “Oh Gon's so--- he's gonna be so excited to see you!” 

He perks when she says that. 

Kite hangs his cap on a keyhook beside the door, as if he knew it would be there. He squeezes water out of his ponytail and lets it drip onto the entry mat, slips his coat off too, heavy and grey and darker from the downpour. Kite rubs his hands together and blows heat again, fingers finally un-numb and sizzling with blood, excitement, anticipation. Again a classic villain with the way he's rubbing his hands together in plot.

When Mito steps around him to shut the door, and it’s much darker, he spots Gon's door from across the living room. He knows it's his, because of the animal and cartoon character stickers he'd smacked on the door when he was younger, when the three of them lived here as a family and Mito’s mother was still alive. Kite can see it; little Gon so happy to have his own space that his first inclination was to mark it up with cheap stickers and poorly scrawled sharpie, a territorial claiming. It’s illegible and merely faded now, but the stickers remain. 

“I have your guest room ready,” Mito tells him over her shoulder, leading him towards the barely lit hallway, dragging his bag.

Kite’s brows bend at her struggle. “Mito, let me carry that." 

“No no I got it. Anyway, guess where it is.” She looks like she's about to laugh.

Kite frowns. “The basement?”

“Close.” She bites her lip in a ridiculous grin. “The attic,” she gets out before she starts laughing.

Kite shakes his head. “Sadist. I'm gonna lose my head up there.”

“Actually it's pretty roomy,” Mito counters honestly, “and it's clean. A  _ little _ crowded because I keep my mom’s books up there, but there’s enough room… for, you to do a pushup.”

Kite smirks. Watches her tippy-toe reach to pull the ladder down from the panel in the hallway’s ceiling, and follows her up. He's the one to hold his luggage. Things are going so fast, he feels like he's been here for years when he hasn't even seen the house in daylight.

When Kite comes up, Mito pulls the light switch; the hanging bulb swings and shadows jump and the attic looks like the perfect lair for this film he's featured in. There's even a small circular window up on the wall, barn style roof, spiderwebs in the corners and as promised, books. There's also several hanging planters, shelves of potted green. Gon's garden.

Mito goes to set his bag by the bed, saying, “I hope it's comfortable enough.”

He’s up and inside, ducking instinctually but finding with raised brows that he’s able to stand fully and normally in this space. He glances around, sniffles again. 

The plants, different shapes and sizes and in different color planters the lot of them, frame the small round window like curtains, form a sort of spotlight with the way they take all but the center’s moonlight. All of them are healthy, bigger, clean. A few are even duplicated, product of transplanting and reproduction. Kite smiles without his knowing.

“It's very nice up here.”

“I told you,” Mito insists. She follows his eyes up to the greenery and answers his question before he can ask; “Gon wanted to keep them in his room, but I guess the light wasn’t good. So then he wanted to keep them in the kitchen, but I didn't want to see dirt and spiders all over the place.”

Kite looks around some more, approaches the bookcases on the other side of the hatch. “So you kicked him up to the attic?”

“Well it was his idea. He cleaned it up and got rid of all the dust and cobwebs.” She leans into the concave wall, sighs, “He's up here every day.”

Kite crouches to see the books in their resting places. Thinks fondly of his guest room. As he thumbs away dust from some of the titles on the shelf, he wonders if Mito has been up here at all since she stored them here. She and her mom were close.

“...Thank you, Mito.”

“For what?”

Kite stands, “For allowing me to visit, at last.”

Her face is blank. She sits on his bed. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry.” Mito rubs her temple. “It was a lot of things, and adjusting, and living without Ging, I,” Mito sputters, “Gon, too, he couldn't be around anyone.” She meets gaze with Kite.

Who looks back seriously. “What do you mean?”

“He isolates." Mito stretches her neck, rolls her head in thought, “He doesn't talk about the divorce, or the move. Or anything, actually. He does his own thing, and,” she has a thoughtful expression, “he  _ seems _ okay, you know? He looks happy and adjusted, but he spends so much of his time alone, and I can never get a good conversation from him.

“But we've, we've been good lately, though, so…” She shrugs. Inhales sharply, “I hope he can be a little more himself with you here now.”

Kite’s mouth rests half-closed, like he's itching to reply, but the weight of this information paired with his vice of overanalyzing in social interactions has him looking and feeling like a fish. “I hope I can help,” he says dumbly. They look at one another, both in their own minds and thinking about Gon.

“Well,” Mito sighs, scratching her arm absently, “I’m super tired, I woke up too early. Are you gonna go straight to sleep?”

“Ah,” Kite approaches his bag and starts zipping it open to unpack, “in a bit. I'm still a bit wired from the flight. I might eat.” He sends Mito a humble look, “Did you need lights out?”

“Huh? Oh no, no you're fine. Late is fine. I don't go back to work until day after tomorrow anyway. I was just wondering.” With a big yawn and a vertical stretch, Mito pops up from the bed. “Mmmm I'm heading to bed. Please make yourself comfortable,” she curtsies with a humorous smirk. “You’ll figure out where everything is, but ask if you need something.”

Before leaving the attic, she turns and gives Kite a more authentic smile. “I'm glad you're here. Really.”

Kite smiles too, more focused on matching hers. “Me too. Goodnight.”

“G’night.” 

She leaves, down the hatch, closing it after but leaving the ladder down.

Good.

Kite unpacks normally, if not slowly. Clothes into the empty dresser beside the made bed, personal and hygiene related items atop. He gets to the bottom of his bag, pulls out a small but hefty little bundle, unwraps it with care. Gon's present. Places it on one of the shelves.

Kite pulls his sweater over his head, blue t-shirt trying to come off with it but held down by static and his hand. Bootlaces, boots, socks come off. Bare feet on the floorboards, he can hear the creaks, and the rain and the old house noises now that Mito isn't talking over them.

His visit fails to feel  _ real, _ as of yet, like he could wake up any second now, and he savors this nostalgic sensation; the comatose feeling of newness that only strikes when he’s out of habitat, or more potently, when Gon is near. Kite wets his lips, climbs down the hatch.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


He can't fall asleep. 

_ He can't fall asleep. _

**Gon can't fall asleep!!!**

It's the worst when he  _ can't _ , no matter how hard he tries, and  _ trying _ only makes it worse. So he got bored. About an hour into changing positions and desperate sheep counting, he grabbed his headphones, started listening to music,  _ maybe that would help! _ but he’s still awake. He’d read a comic or do some homework if he weren’t scared of his mother catching him awake.

To make the night worse, he's uncomfortable now, having been too inactive for too long and too warm from being under the blankets with a closed window. Again, he'd open it for the cool air if he was sure mom wouldn't come to check on the sound.

But he's glad for the headphones, playlist of his dad's keeping Gon distracted. If he did hear Kite---if he did get here already, it would be no good. He'd never sleep. And plus… He doesn't know how to feel. He's almost  _ mad _ , mad at his mom for keeping secrets, and mad at Kite for never talking to him… but the drums and bass riffs in his ear remind him of his dad when he was younger, which remind Gon of times with Kite. And he's more sad than mad when sifting through memories.

Abruptly, he yanks out the earbuds. The nostalgic rock song he's heard 14 times in the last two hours continues playing as he tosses the device and its tangle of wires aside, onto the dresser. Gon spreads out like a starfish, and sighs deeply.

What can he do? What could he do to tire himself ou---

Oh.

_ Oh, _ he thinks. 

It's pitch black, but he still leans his head up to look down at himself. Right now is a good time.

There’s many little mindless, necessary routines that Gon has when preparing to do day-to-day tasks; the instinctive action of rolling up his sleeves when folding laundry, washing his hands before mealtimes, making his bed after he wakes up. He doesn't even think, he just does them, because they're routine.

It's the same thing, when Gon looks around for eyes or ears in the lonely dark, even if he doesn't realize. And it's routine when Gon grabs the nearest pillow, but he stops himself---he wants to do it differently right now.

He peels down his little sleep shorts. This is the pair with different species of birds patterned on them, he remembers purposefully, as they come down to mid-thigh. He's not hard yet, but he takes hold of himself as gently as he would if he were. It feels soft, odd. Clinical. Maybe he needs to ‘warm up’.

He turns to lay on his side, pulls his shorts back up, bunches the duvet between his legs, and swallows. 

His hips roll, slow and steady. His hands bunch in the cushiony material, meeting the rhythm and rubbing too. He continues this inexperienced rubbing until the friction is  _ just _ enough, enough to melt him, lava, blood stirring, he’s rubbing faster, breathing picks up. 

Then Gon pulls his shorts down again, quicker than the first time. Shoves his hand down beneath the cover and takes hold of his erection.

He breathes out long and deep as he strokes himself for the first time. He feels like it's not so much just a body part anymore, but temporarily an abstract, a source of pleasure. Fire ignites, melts him  _ there _ , and when his fist tightens, sends him into full-body shivers, Gon rolls his face to smother noise into the pillows. Whether it be a whimper or loud breathing. Nothing could interrupt this. It feels  _ too good. _

Lying on his back again, Gon's knees come up to bend, thighs tight and close. He’s inclined to spread the fluid pooling at his tip, and curiously he pauses his aroused, frantic stroking to press and pull apart wet strands of it with his fingers. Continues touching himself, faster, less control.

Thunder booms outside his window, lighting up his room. He sees the shadows of rain bulleting down, hears his dad's music like muted static from where the earbuds continue playing.

He feels _ it _ \--- that euphoric chase, vague craving for the proper end he never found, it's close! Missing pages of anatomy and sex and other curious images flash before his indecisive blinking eyes, and he's shaking, kicking his legs beneath the covers because it's just  _ too much _ and  _ not enough  _ all at once----

Lightning cracks. Something happens.

It's only all of a few seconds that he's frozen tense, arched off the bed with his mouth open and no noise.

Oh, God, it’s hot, it hurts!

It hurts  _ good. _

There’s a hitch in a breath that leaves his throat like a sob. 

It feels like a warm brainfreeze, hyperintense and concentrated to this twitching part of him. It's so amazing, awful, he wishes it would just either kill him or end, or go on forever. He could feel like this forever.

When he comes back down, breathing heavy… for a few shameful, fearsome moments, Gon thinks he's peed the bed. All over his hand and legs and shorts.

The whole thing happened so fast he hadn't had a chance to stop and think about any of it, so naturally he assumes he did pee, because it's the most logical conclusion. Right? But wait.

Pulling his hand out from beneath the covers, he feels a specific sort of dampness running down his palm and past his wrist, like cooking oil or shampoo. Hot, wet. He can't see, can’t tell. 

It's horrifying; and instead of being exhausted like he was counting on, his heartbeat has tripped into a state of panic. Terrified. Climbing arm by elbow to sit half-up in the dark, he faces his legs, folded up like a V. Holding his hand away like he's just touched something dead or toxic.

 

Is it blood?

His eyebrows crease deeper, pupils big as his irises, but there's nothing to see in the dark. What did the books say again. Did he do it wrong? What if Gon did it so spectacularly wrong that he broke his penis? What does he do now? Wait. He gasps aloud. The stuff, it'

The bedroom door clicks open loud and sudden.   
  


It's just good that he's fast. 

It's good he'd thought to hide his hand when he dropped back to his pillow, to feign sleep in those milliseconds of darkness he still had. Kite’s silhouette towers in the doorway, blinding hallway light melting in. If Gon's heart wasn’t screaming before, it is now.

He should've just gone to sleep. _ He should've just gone to sleep. _

Gon keeps his eyes shut, tries to calm down but for too many reasons his body thrums, shameful nerves. If Kite looked even a bit closely at him he'd know that Gon's been awake.

But he can calm down now; Gon remembers, he knows what the  _ stuff _ is. He knows the sciencey word for it, anyway.

Kite---the figure Gon pictures behind his eyelids from memory--- walks the length of his room, stops at his bedside. Nocturnal, silent, assassin in the night. 

This could easily be just a dream if Gon weren't so sure that it was real. This is  _ real _ . He's  _ really _ half-naked. Kite's  _ really _ in his room. His earbuds clatter as they're picked up, Kite turning off the endless music. Gon swallows. 

It's just them and the rain now. Why does he feels strange, stirrings?

Kite sighs. The bed dips, slowly _ , _ the man keeps his weight light lest it creak and wake Gon, (who Kite knows is a very deep sleeper anyway, but he's always been considerate. Three steps ahead.) 

“You got bigger,” he says softly.

The mattress makes noise as he adjusts, leaning his back against the headboard. Inches away. Only inches, and he’s damp with the smell of rain. Kite scoffs a silent laugh. “I do this every time, but if you're asleep you won't have to suffer through it, hm?” Gon can hear the smile in his voice.

Fingers, feathery as a moth’s wings trace up the side of his soft cheek, comb through his hair, and Gon represses the urge to open his eyes. 

“You look a little older too.” 

_ how big you're getting, how mature you are now _

“You're growing up too fast,” he whispers, like he didn't expect to mean it. 

Instead of being embarrassed, Gon wants to hear more. Hear all the things Kite might only honestly share with him when he's asleep. Tooth fairies only leave gifts when you're not awake to see them.

His fingers feel nice, numbing where they scrape down his head. It's weird; the things Gon forgets, little, forgettable nothings that he loves and craves when Kite is around. Like just the sight of him would be enough to make him remember. His long, thin fingers scratching at Gon's scalp; it's one of the things.

Like this, it's almost easy for him to forget that his privates are exposed and wet underneath these layers of blanket, only inches away from Kite. But only almost.

He keeps feeling strange. A molasses in his throat, gnats and butterflies and other such winged creatures aflutter in his insides.

Kite remarks with a hum, “It’s odd what the body remembers as second-nature that the mind forgets, until you see certain people again.”

Gon sips a sharp breath. Remembers he's supposed to be deep asleep and plays off a half-snore in his exhale.

No.

The way he feels, it's not strange at all--- no, no, this is  _ Kite _ . This is just how he feels around Kite. He just forgot, maybe his heart forgot a little.

Kite sighs through his nose again, takes his hand back from Gon's hair as he makes to stand, the bed reshaping to its default flat. He lingers there, nearby, wherever he is. 

Gon wants to open his eyes, screw it! And he tries to. But he can't--- 

“...Happy birthday, Gon.”

The door clicks closed before Gon even registers that Kite left. A ghost. 

And he lays there paralyzed, stuck, stuck, stupid.

Then, like nothing at all, he can open his eyes. As expected nothing but rain and the sound of his own shallow breaths accompany him. 

He pulls his shorts up, crawls out of bed to get his flashlight from inside a drawer at his desk, and examines himself. This is what ejaculate looks like, Gon  surmises . Huh. He's such a dummy… 

He cleans himself, changes his shorts and kicks them under his bed. Sneaks back into his covers just as quietly as he left, taking the light with him. Gon is no closer to sleep now than before, so he shines the flashlight idly, at the ceiling, around the room, imagining Kite's movements and the way his mouth moved as he whispered to him.

What… what would have happened if Kite had come in earlier?

What if he’d seen Gon masturbating?

Would he have left, repulsed? Closed the door and left never to speak to him again?

Or would he have come in and shut the door behind him?

Gon wonders if--- no, he  _ knows _ this entire topic is something he could speak to Kite about without judgement or shame. And that’s what Gon needs, he reasons, someone to ask questions. Maybe he'll ask Kite questions one day. Yeah, maybe. Maybe soon. If not for answers, then just to see Kite's reaction.

 

 

 

 


	3. imagine me and you, i do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man!

 

 

 

Mornings don’t taste good.

Gon used to love mornings because of what they felt like, the routine of them--- breakfast, schoolwork, the domestic humdrums his parents would go to the effort of making fun---and how he felt going through the day afterwards.

He doesn't feel like that lately. It’s like they never go right, or feel right, like oh,  _ another _ day, either too late or too early. Maybe it's just him getting older, but he thinks it's a lot of things; and maybe this is how adults feel, but all the time. If that's the case then Gon wishes he'd never grow up. 

He wakes groggy and empty-minded. Overcast sky out his window, morning fog and trails of dewy rain on the glass. Gon exhales exhaustion, tastes his sour mouth and wonders what time it is--- until he remembers with widening eyes, that it's his birthday. And then he remembers that Kite is here. And that Kite was  _ here _ last night, in his room.

Goosebumps, heart skipping like rocks on still water. Gon scrambles out of bed with blurry roses swimming in his vision.

He almost trips running to the door, saves himself turning the knob, throws it open and lets it hit the stopper noisily, carelessly. Gon doesn't even care that he's immodest; bedhead, wearing no shirt, both socks and oversized sleep shorts that end mid-thigh and still hardly fit him, double-tied in the front but too loose on his hips. He still rushes to the living room, panting… and is surprised to see no one. Hear no one, there’s no one here. The kitchen, mom's room, bathroom is empty.

Was it a dream, then? That's his first thought.

His second thought is, for whatever ineffable reason:  _ Check the attic _

With less hurry in his steps, he heads to the other hallway. Small victories---the ladder is folded down. His mom is talking on the other side of the hatch. 

Kite is up there. Gon climbs.

He doesn't knock, he just enters up---and lo and behold Kite is sitting on a bed straight across the space, tying his boots. Gon hardly notices the background or his mother with Kite sat in the center, the way he is.

He. Kite. Remnants of sunlight, centerpiece. His garden.

Gon holds his breath. Pushes the hatch door open further but it creaks; his mom looks up first, then Kite, stopped mid-conversation.

He stares, for all of a quiet moment. Gon too. And then he  _ grins _ .

“Gon.”

Gon pushes out an airy whisper, “Kite,” it leaves his lungs heavy and cherished. At seeing the man’s happy reaction, he takes it as a permission granted, an  _ ‘okay’ _ to stumble up and all the way inside the attic, crawl-rushing to his feet and throwing himself into Kite's open arms. 

Kite laughs as breathlessly as he did a year ago, in their last odd, impromptu hug. His cool hands on Gon’s hot bare back. He shoves his face into Kite’s neck, breathes in his leftover rain. Doesn't even have to try not to think about anything else in the world. Mom. His jammies. Not even his own burning wet eyes, as though last night had never happened.

“Hi,” Kite chuckles softly. “Surprise.”

Gon replies low, “Hi.” Rasped, like he could cry. 

“Happy birthday baby!!” His mom sits beside Kite on the bed and rubs his back excitedly, surprise or some such sentiment in her features; “You’re up super early!”

Gon peeks out of Kite's hug curiously, raises a brow. 

“It's eight,” Kite adds, “Not too early. How did you know I was here?”

Mito makes wide eyes, silly, secret,  _ shh! _ but Gon isn't feeling it. Forget his birthday, Kite’s here. “I heard your voices.” 

Kite trades a look with Mito, then looks back to Gon. “Did you miss me?” he asks, half-humorously. Only half. He guides Gon's little slumped figure off his lap, a large hand in his hair, makes him stand back on his feet. A sock rolled down, one side of his shorts riding low on his hips.

Gon nods seriously, “Yes.” 

He looks all over Kite's falling face, attempting memorization, like seeing him after a year presents him in a new light. To Gon, it does. He tries to match his deep voice to these new lips, tries to remember his face in his memories but it's too imbued with rose, and rain, and Kite never looked so handsome. Or real. Did he always have this face?

“You don't seem as happy to see me as I thought you might,” Kite admits. Just keep talking.

Gon stares tremors down his face; hooded eyes, hooked nose. Memorize his crooked smile.

“I think he's just really surprised, huh Gon? Look at him, jumped right out of bed.”

These are details no normal interaction would give away to any normal person. Gon knows he's been staring too intently for too long, but he only has ten days, right? He has ten days to make up for a year, make last another. He'll take what he can get.

Kite closes in on Gon, messing up his view and coming up to meet his eyes properly--- “Gon.”

Gon knows.... he knows that Kite, no matter what he placates him with, didn't really want to visit. There was something keeping him back, and Gon claims it to be himself; somehow, in some manner… this is all just for Gon. A good present, but authenticity means more to the boy than his wants.

And he really doesn't wanna mess this up. So Gon makes a decision:

He inches back, away. 

“Sorry! I'm just shocked, like mom said,” Gon tells him.  _ Away. _ Kite could still reach him if he tried to, he thinks. He clears his throat and puts on a bright smile to lessen the look of confusion on Kite's face. “I'm really happy you’re here, Kite.”

Mito stands, “I'll start breakfast! You want pancakes, Gon?” She makes to climb down, smiling and oblivious to it, to the odd expression Kite carries looking at Gon.

Gon widens his smile big, best he can, and turns to his mom, “Yes please!” 

“Alrighty! You, Kite?”

Who looks between the two Freecss, “Ah-- no. Thank you.”

“You’re no fun,” Mito teases, scrunching her nose. “Come on, Gon, let Kite finish getting dressed!” She leaves down the ladder and he follows---a glance back, without a word.

  
  
  
  


At the table, Gon plays with the leftovers on his plate.

Friday morning, blank day, birthday pancakes. Mito stuck a pair of those cheesy numbered candles in a stack, tried her best to get Kite to be as enthusiastic as her when she sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to her son. Then she told him to go put on a shirt. Gon ate as much as he could, but ended up full halfway through and forked the soggy pancakes into mush towards the end. Now bored and stuffed, he pushes the waxy  **1** candle on his plate around the  **3** like a spinner.

Kite and mom are still eating, so he lingers. Observes.

Mom eats with her elbows off the table, closed mouth, always swallows before she speaks. Ingrained manners don't die with your parents. Gon’s father on the other hand; the messy opposite. Always did this thing where he'd slide his tongue over his teeth, use his pinky to clean his molars.

And Kite, he keeps his arms planted on the table, forgets to use forks sometimes. But it's okay--- he has an elegance about him at any given moment that combats any clash with manners. His natural grace shows in the way his big hands move while he speaks, or in the roll of his neck, or the tense of his jaw when he's invested in a conversation. He makes more faces when he eats than generally, a courtesy, because he speaks less. Smiles less. Almost never, when he’s around other people. He never makes a mess, always cleans his plate. 

When Gon was a little younger, when Kite and Ging would drink, sometimes he'd catch him cooking breakfast for themselves late at night, the two men bickering like kids. Gon would like to see that again.

Usually after he finishes eating, Kite has the tendency to pull a toothpick from thin air and chew it for some time. It's overwhelming when he breaks into a smile while it's hitched between his teeth. 

“How does that sound, honey?”

“Huh?” Mito’s question breaks Gon's daze.

“If we went out tonight for dinner? We can do presents and stuff after, but we never go out, I thought it would be nice! Kite says he doesn't care where we go, so it's up to you.”

“Oh, yeah!” Gon replies pleasantly. Thinking for a moment; “Can we eat at the sp---"

“ _ Noooo! _ Not the spaghetti place, Gon!”

He laughs a bit at his mother's overreaction, “It's not that bad!”

“What place?” Kite cuts in.

“This, like,” Mito swipes loose hair behind her ear, “terrible, wannabe Italian restaurant that Gon  _ loves. _ ”

“It's not  _ that _ bad,” he repeats with a big pout, poking at his mushy pancakes.

“You really wanna eat there? You wanna make  _ Kite _ eat there?”

“It's sounding better by the minute,” Kite comments and Gon grins at his plate.

He looks at his mother, “I wanna eat there.”

Who rolls her eyes into the back of her head, dramatically falls back into her chair, the big child she is. “Okay. Alright. Fine, birthday boy. But I'm bringing my own dinner in tupperware, I'm not even kidding!”

Kite and Gon look at each other then, silent laughter. Until Gon remembers what he'd told himself, and flits his eyes away, lets his smile die.

 

 

 

* * *

  
  
  
  


"It’s packed in here! Curse Fridays…” Mito adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder, untangles it from the strap of her pretty dress. “You guys wanna get seated? I gotta pee.”

“Sure, you'll be able to find us?” Kite answers for the two of them. Gon is looking around at the structure of the interior, its fancy decor.

“Yeah, I'll just look for a tall mop sitting at one of the booths.”

Kite nods absently, exasperated, eyeing after wandering Gon. “Okay,” he mumbles, following after him.

As Gon walks a blind beeline past other patrons and waitresses, he looks straight up. There's mismatched beams and hanging decor up there, tall ceilings. Chandeliers of different time periods and sizes, multi-colored lamps and light bulbs and candles, myriads of odd murals and other breathtaking details that culminate the restaurant’s enthralling ambiance, and that, likely, is the real reason Gon enjoys coming here. Kite smirks when he figures it out.

He's led to a table in the center of the restaurant. Kite hesitates to sit. 

“Here? Wouldn't you rather have a booth?”

Gon glances over to the wall, empty booths aplenty. “Mm. No, I like the middle! And the waiters don't have to walk as far.” Kite looks back to the backest wall, away from eyes and ears, noise. And, reluctantly, sits at the table opposite Gon, looking around like everyone could be staring at them.

He wets his lips, sniffs. Too open, too many people. He turns his head a full circle and returns gaze back on Gon--- who's watching him. Not unlike the way he's been watching him since this morning. 

He gives Kite a little smile. Only almost comforting, because it’s not genuine. It must be difficult for Gon to hold too, because he immediately dims and looks up at the ceiling again. And it may or may not add to the piling doubts and discomforts Kite’s been keeping track of in himself. Why is he being avoidant?

He straightens his sleeve cuffs, clears his throat. Says, “Hey.”

Gon levels his sights back down to the table. “Huh?”

“I said hey.”

“Oh, hey.”

“Are you alright?”

His small hands fidget, play with his napkin-silverware bundle. “Yeah, of course!”

Kite narrows his sharp eyes. Maybe he lets himself glare a little too.

Gon shrugs, looks down. His hands crawl to the rim of a blank plate in front of him, a little more obviously seeking distraction or salvation in the ceramic. His eyes strain for focus as he responds with, “I'm okay, Kite.” Turns the plate in circles. Nervous.

Kite reaches across the table and stills the plate himself. “I don't believe you.”

A waiter comes out of nowhere, “Good evening guys! Can I get you two started on drinks?”

Kite startles just a little, wonders if he should wait for Mito but tells the man anyway, “Just water please,” and Gon cites off a flavor of Italian soda and his main order right off the bat. Then the waiter leaves as he came. Kite sighs and straightens his posture, looks around compulsively.

“I'm not that fine,” Gon admits, twirling his unwrapped fork idly. His round cheek comes to rest on his palm. “Kite… How come you didn't visit before?”

He asks just quietly enough, that if Kite hadn't been listening so intently surely the noise would have drowned it out. There's little to reply with. Gon continues when he doesn't answer right away, asking,

“How come you never called?

“Why didn't you keep in touch like you promised?”

Flee, coward! Adult that he is! Kite sighs through his teeth, and stands abruptly, like he might run away.

Instead he circles the table to sit next to Gon, moving the chair so that they're as close together as they would be in a booth.

“It…” Kite chooses his words carefully. Very. The restaurant around him dims as he hones in on Gon’s limp hand bunched in the cloth napkin. “It wasn't in my power, to visit earlier than now.” He side-eyes the boy. “As for reaching you, I've been equally neglected.”

Gon raises a brow. “W-what do you mean?”

“There you are, I got lost!” Mito huffs. Kite and Gon break apart a little when she sits down across from them. “Did you guys order yet?”

An overlapping ‘no’ and ‘yes’ from both of them.

Mito nods, “YesNo? Okay. Well,” she sets her purse on the empty fourth chair, digs for a full tupperware and a regular metal fork, “I'll just steal your water when it comes,” she says, peering at Kite.

He temples his fingers in a clasp, rubs his hands anxiously. Gon is still tense beside him with some indefinite sadness, and Kite feels too responsible. Nothing makes sense. But separately, it's odd that the awkward both of them can't find it comfortable enough to have this conversation in front of Mito.

“You okay?” Mito asks her son as she peels open the tub of leftovers.

Gon smiles brilliantly, deceivingly. “I'm great!”

It's as though if Mito found out the truth of Gon’s emotional state, they’d be exposing something; a well-kept secret neither of them know they keep. Like if she knew that Kite had been wanting to visit for more than months, --- Their feelings have nothing at all to do with her, maybe that's part of it.

Soon the waiter returns, takes the secondary orders and Mito steals Kite’s water as promised. “Ging would always order water and not drink it,” she says absently, twirling her straw in the ice water to hear the cubes click.

“I don't think I've seen him drink water since college.”

“Right?” Mito laughs. “Man, poor guy…” 

Kite watches Gon, who watches his mother stare into her cup with soft eyes. Wonders what his young brain will overanalyze, what conclusions he comes to when his mother has these wavering moments.

“Yeah…”

It's a compulsive, subconscious habit of his to memorize everything in a scene when he finds himself checking it for something specific. A lost dish in a cupboard, a missing bottle in a cabinet. He could draw the other background contents perfectly by memory. Yet another odd thought this evening… But Kite considers this to be such a ‘moment’; with him searching every subtle rise and fall and soft detail on Gon’s distracted face for any clue as to his thinking, any give,  _ let me in, stubborn child _ \--- and tripping up on the long eyelashes, the moles on his skin. Accidentally memorizing the indent line in his puffy, (ever so downturned) bottom lip.

“Poor guy,” Mito repeats to herself, silently.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


“Mom, I have a question. About Ging.”

Stutter in her as she shuffles a deck of cards. They sit across from each other at the kitchen table.

“What's your question?” Gon can hear it in her voice, it's quite a conscious effort she makes to be triply pleasant when Kite is around, his birthday just happens to be extra cushion. Gon is taking advantage--- But he specifically waited to ask until Kite excused himself to the attic.

“Why… why did you and dad get a divorce?”

She scowls, starts dealing out three piles of cards. “Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

“I've never understood why.”

“You don’t need to understand why,” Mito counters. “You're the child.”

“Exactly, your child!” Gon blurts before he can think about it. 

When Mito looks up with wide eyes, Gon fuels up a bit. When she's silent, he decides to take it further; “Nobody ever told me anything. I didn't know anything until you left, mom! I-- I thought you and dad loved each other.”

Mito slumps somewhat. Her brows crease honestly. “...Knowing someone as well as we know each other, it doesn't mean love.” She stares at the cards. “You can get sick of the things you'll never forget. Love is tricky-- Falling out of love…

“Gon, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“What about closure?” Gon demands.

_ Keep going?  _

“You handle things your own way,” she argues.

Gon frowns deeply. “Is that why you don't care what I think?” He doesn't hear Kite entering the room behind him as he raises his voice, “Why do you keep secrets from me, mom?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Why do you think I wouldn't care if Kite called?” His voice is raspy, teary-eyed. “You don't… you don't talk about anything. And you don't let me talk to dad!”

“ _ Because he doesn't wanna talk to you, Gon!! _ ” Mito shouts.

“How do  _ you _ know?”

“He told me!”

She stares down her resolute son. Gone silent. Her own pride swelling in the wake of his shock. “Wipe that ugly look off your face. Kite's here now, isn't he? Stop bringing up your father.”

Gon cries. “Kite is only here because it's my birthday.” He shuts his eyes and lets the tears drizzle. He could only hold it back so long. “It…”

“Stop. Crying.” 

He cries harder.

Mito sighs, composes herself. “I don’t wanna talk about this. None of it. Not your worthless father,” Gon sobs, “not the divorce, and  _ definitely _ don't bring this up in front of Kite. Do you hear me?”

Gon scoots his chair out and rushes to his room.

“You're manipulative, Gon! Grow up!”

He shuts his door. Maybe he slams it a little.

Christen his teenage years with some rebellion.  _ Make her understand you're not a kid! _ That's what his dad would say to cheer him on. His parents were always good at pitting Gon against one another. Kite was always good at intervening, when the fights were still something they talked about.

Gon falls onto his bed, wiping leftover tear trails.

Now that he's alone to reflect, alone, he really feels it. Kite returning any moment to play cards like they'd all agreed is what hurts more than the argument. More than his dad. His mom was cruel, but his heart hurts for Kite, still. Hurts physically in his chest. Is this what it feels like to get older?

In the end, it's not even that he's mad. It's the aloneness.

Minutes pass in silence, in the dark. He stares at the spackle ceiling, finding shapes in the spots, occasionally shuddering from leftover cry. Gon keeps thinking about what his mom said, too--- about love.

He understands that she's right.  _ ‘Knowing someone doesn't mean eternal love.’ _ It makes him analyze every connection he's ever formed, every person he’s ever cared for, trying childishly hard to find a crack or a falsehood in his mother's words, because then this truth might become a little more bearable, an exception rather than a rule. Every person in his life; and the list starts and ends with

He doesn't expect the door to click open then. Gon’s eyes are closed, but the light is too bright, so he rolls onto his side. “Please leave me alone.”

“Sorry,” Kite mutters.

Gon shoots up, “No!”

“No?”

“Ah,” he shields his eyes, sniffles, “you can come in.”

Kite turns on the bedroom light, leans against the door as it closes. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” He sounds petulant. He's still down about their unfinished conversation.

Kite meanwhile, hesitates. Blinks twice, walks over to the bed. When he sits down, it's more like a freefall, right onto Gon’s small mattress.

“Kite?” He's never seen him like this. What is it? What will he say? As Gon crawls closer to the man on his bed, his mind blizzards. “Kite? Are you mad?”

Kite's brows bend. “Yes. But not at you.” Gon inches closer, curls beside him. He sighs, “You mustn’t tell your mother I told you this.” Gon nods fast and serious.

“I called for a long time after you moved away.

“Every week at first. In the past year I've sent letters, packages, emails. Your mom said she'd pass on my messages to you. But you never saw any of that, did you?”

Horrified, the boy shakes his head. 

“I figured,” Kite mutters. Biting his lip, “I thought… well I thought maybe you had decided to boycott me after the last time we saw each other,” he scoffs a quiet laugh. “I really thought that. I wouldn’t have blamed you either, but." He turns to face Gon. Smiles. “I'm glad it was just a missed connection.”

“Wait, what?” This is a lot. Gon pulls his legs up onto the bed to sit on his knees, “Last time…?”

Kite's eyes go wide. “Nevermind.” 

“What? No, tell me!”

“Forget it, really--"

“You have to tell me!”

“I can't,” he half smiles. Gon is so insistent, so serious. “You'll have to remember on your own…”

Gon leans far forward, face to face. He's a different kind of intense now. 

“Tell me,” he says softly.

Kite is swallowed by his big eyes. He says nothing. They stay like that. Until Gon tires from his awkward position and plants hands on either side of his head.

“Please, Kite.” He's not the slightest bit aware. It’s haunting.

Kite opens his mouth like he might just tell him---

“Hey. I never gave you your present.” He sits up quick, pulling confused Gon by the arm and off the bed, out the door.

“Hey, you have to---"

“Later. I promise.”

They rush through the living room and hallways, Gon sparing a look over his shoulder at the table, Mito nowhere to be seen. The cards ready to go.

“You first,” Kite offers, hand on the ladder. As Gon climbs, he sends Kite a look. It could be of mischief or anticipation, or both. Sadness already forgotten at the overwhelming reassurance Kite fed him, the blind excitement of Kite directing him. Kite always knows him so well. Mito’s words echo in Gon’s head.

Kite pulls his ponytail loose as he comes up into his room, rolling the hair tie around his wrist as a bracelet and heading to stand by his dresser. “Okay, c’mere.” He waits for Gon to sit up on the bed before kneeling on the floor, eye-level. He holds out his gift.

They already did presents, but Gon appreciates this yearly occasion as a separate event, possibly the crown. 

It's a fern. “Happy birthday, Gon.”

It’s small and healthy and lovely, leafy tendrils outcast and curled. While Kite tells him its species and name and lists on about other such details, Gon can’t help but stare at his mouth. Yes, he knows what this fern is. Yes. Yes, Kite, it's lovely. You're lovely.

He knows what this fern means, too… Or at least he thinks he does, if his grandmother’s numerous silly books of symbolism in nature have any slight truth to them. Then Gon remembers Kite never premeditatedly chooses the plant.

He sets the plant on the floor, off to the side, and folds his hands in his lap. He finds himself speechless right now, result of a day filled with tug-of-war confusions of the heart. But it's alright now. It's all alright. Right?

“Thank you,” Gon smiles.

“You're welcome.” Kite watches him contemplating in silence for a few moments, before sighing quietly, adjusting to sit cross-legged on the floor, hand staked behind him to lean back on. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Gon replies. He looks him in the eye.

“What your mother said about your father---"

“I'm okay, really. It's okay.”

“I believe you.” He inhales; “Are you thinking of confronting your mother?”

No. He wasn't. But what she said still lingers in his head. Does that count?

“If…” Kite leans forward to speak low, “Rather, your mother doesn't handle confrontation well. Since we were young she's actually become more prideful,” he smirks to himself, “Ging was the only one who could get to her.”

“Ging?”

“Point being; she may not let me stay in your lives, if she finds out you know that she hid and lied for so long… and even then I've no idea what inspired her to mislead us, but. This is going to be our secret.” 

Gon looks at him, big-eyed. “Our secret?”

Kite nods.

And his mind, his young, playful mind produces an infinite amount of things that he’d love to hear Kite say such a thing for.  _ Our secret. Our.  _

“Cook breakfast tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Kite's brows furrow.

“Let's make breakfast together!” Gon bounces just a little as he makes his demand. 

“Uh. Alright,” Kite agrees. “I'm up at five, though. Will you be able to wake up?” He asks with a teasing lilt. 

“I'll wake up at 4:30 and beat you.”

Kite barks a laugh. Gon stares at him, swallows the rare sound. “We’ll see.” Gon restrains the suns and smiles, balls it up into a determined fist. He’ll prove himself.

They chat like normal. They laugh and jest and talk about nothings for such a long time, long enough that Gon actually fears for his sleep. So they say goodnight soon after, and he goes back to his room. Finds himself wanting to stay more than anything, how he’ll miss the tremulous hanging bulb and the smell of his plants more than ever.

_ Mito is only half right _ , Gon thinks to himself. That knowing someone so well may not equate to love. That people change and age and fall into comforts to the point of no surprises, no passion.

That's not love, though.

Love is the trembling in his fingers, heaviness in his toes, moths in his stomach, static behind his eyes. It follows and stains everything, lives forever in certain smells. Love is both rarer and more effortless than merely, wholly knowing someone. Silly mom. Poor mom. Gon is sure of this, because every time he's with Kite, he learns something---the way he is in public crowds, how he eats, handles anger---and it's not for naught. And what he learns his heart accepts. Yet, despite the fact he doesn't know him all that well at all, and while his stomach aches for it, it comforts him;

That all his life and for the rest of it, Kite and he will have this closeness--- whether it grow and reshape to Gon’s aging self, or acclimate to their developing relationship, as all relationships do--- Gon takes selfish, blushing, rolling-in-his-bed-with-a-grin comfort that his mother is half wrong. That his intimacy with his friend is a product of kind, blind love. He couldn't define it before now.

Gon realizes as he drifts off to sleep, that that’s a word he knows.  _ Intimacy. _ He hasn't ever used it aloud, another part of getting older; use this word, that word, big word, bad word. 

But _ intimate. _ It's in his vocabulary, in his homework and in the books his mom reads on her nights off work. It's what he wants more of with Kite.    
  
  


_ Nine. Nine more days. _

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> We'll see if i finish this anytime soon, im working on my mp100 fics atm. If you read and enjoy this, please consider leaving a kudos or review!!!! They are highly loved and i might pick this up again if ppl like it. 
> 
> Frankly? im not proud of this, as it was a project i worked on to get thru a rough writing patch, but its a lot, and i like the notes i have for it. So maybe☆


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